


Over

by orphan_account



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 21:21:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For this request at more biting: Phobos/Porthos/Abel hatesex, like sloppy makeouts in a closet after a fight or maybe Abel and Phobos used to hook up and Phobos tells Porthos about it during sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over

**Author's Note:**

> Haaaaaaa sorry Anon, this somehow ended up being more about Porthos and less about hatesex--IDEK HOW IT HAPPENED D:

They'd only ever kissed once. Once, coming back late from the lab, he and Phobos caught the last lift up with Abel. Phobos had been happy about it, always happy about an excuse to vent his frustration, his fear of being outdone and left behind.

Abel had stiffened his spine as soon as they'd entered, not scared but defensive all the same, staring straight ahead as the lift doors closed and it began to ascend. Phobos had slid up close to Abel's side, gaze fixed and intent; always had it out for Abel, always liked to push his buttons and make him squirm, even if it rarely ever worked, though that only made Phobos try all the harder.

Porthos remembered being surprised when Abel didn't get away from Phobos' closeness; when he stayed put, eyeing Phobos distrustfully as he leaned close to whisper in Abel's ear.

The mechanical whirr of the lift drowned out the sound of his voice, and Porthos found he was curious despite himself, watching Phobos lean toward Abel, lips buzzing, a crimson blush blooming across Abel's cheeks in response. Then Phobos had tilted his head back just far enough to give Abel a sharp look. He stayed pressed close to Abel's side though, and when Porthos had glanced at the two of them, unable to stop himself, Phobos had his gaze lowered; fixed on Abel's mouth.

Porthos had almost given him a warning, since it was clear Phobos was about to do something stupid. He didn't get a chance though, didn't manage to say anything before they were kissing, and Porthos didn't know how it happened, no idea who started it, but suddenly there were hands and moaning and a lot of  _blond hair_ , and he was just standing there watching.

Then they broke apart, flushed and tousled and leaning into each other, and Porthos must have made a noise because they both glanced at him, then Phobos grabbed his arm and pulled him forward.

For a while afterward, Porthos remembered kissing Abel. It came to him in flashes, randomly, both when he was in the shower jerking off and also when he was in the lab examining the functionality of boost thrusters. He still couldn't quite figure out why he kept thinking about it, shouldn't have been anything special about it; Abel just as warm and pale as Phobos, as anyone else he'd ever kissed.

Maybe it was because it'd been different than what Porthos would have expected—had expected; Abel lunging up toward him as soon as Porthos had gotten within range, moaning in his mouth when Phobos had pulled down the collar of Abel's jacket and began sucking at the dark bruises already littered along his neck.

Then Abel was pressing closer, rubbing up against Porthos' front and breathing hot into his mouth, arms wrapping around his shoulders and groaning when Porthos gripped his hips with both hands. One of them moaned—Phobos or Abel or maybe both, it was hard to tell—but the lift was still moving, and then suddenly it wasn't.

Abel pulled away, pulled back, flushed and looking between Phobos and Porthos as though he didn't know which one of them he wanted to fuck first. But then he chose neither of them, backing out of the elevator and hurrying away down the hall.

"Going back to your fighter?" Phobos yelled after him, almost halfway to exiting the elevator and following. Porthos pulled him back without thinking about it, torn between stopping Phobos from being his usual stupid self, and the desire to follow Abel, too.

Then the doors closed, and for a moment, Phobos met Porthos' eyes in the warped reflection of themselves in the shined metal. Phobos had been on him in a moment, rutting against Porthos' thigh and pushing a hot tongue into Porthos' mouth, gripping the sides of his face to keep him still. They didn't fuck in the elevator; made it back to Phobos' room just before he'd started taking his clothes off.

He came once with Porthos' fingers fucking him slow and hard, came a second time—still half-dressed and face-down in the mattress—when Porthos slid his cock inside and held him in place while he pounded into him.

Porthos never got a chance to ask what Phobos had said to Abel, why it had gotten Abel so riled up, but it wasn't until later when the full nature of their relationship had come out, and Porthos had received some sort of answer, anyway.

"We used to do stuff," Phobos said one night, eyes on his tablet as he tapped the screen casually.

Just at that, Porthos could feel some of his blood move south, already thinking about that fleeting kiss with Abel; sweet breath and fragrance and soft hair, then thinking about Phobos, about Phobos and Abel together. Porthos shifted closer on the bed. Phobos didn't seem to notice.

"What kind of stuff?"

Phobos looked away from his tablet at that, one arm still behind his head as he leaned back against the pillows, just looking at Porthos with his usual cold stare. Then one side of his mouth turned up. He rolled forward, the tablet thudding to the floor without a care.

"Stuff," he said evasively. "Why do you want to know?"

Porthos didn't answer, wasn't sure how Phobos would feel about him wanting to listen to all the things he'd done with Abel—all the things they'd done together. He slid his hands up the inside of Phobos' pant legs, brushing against the bones of his ankles.

"Why'd it end?"

The little smile vanished, and Porthos had to tighten his grip on Phobos' legs to keep him from pulling away. "He got a new fighter," he said, and the bitter turn to his voice made it clear the rejection still rankled.

Porthos didn't want to hear about that part, though, didn't want to keep Phobos angry. He was still hard, only getting harder thinking about Abel and Phobos doing  _stuff_ , part of him enjoying the vague description since he got to make up his own mind about  _what_  exactly they did. But still….

He used his twin grips on Phobos' legs to pull him down the bed, pull him closer. His white undershirt rode up a little on his stomach, revealing a long strip of pale skin above the waistband of his pants. Porthos hunched over, planted his lips against the warm skin, feeling the muscles of Phobos' stomach flutter in reaction, his breath catch.

Porthos glanced up, dipped his tongue into Phobos' naval and swirled it around. Phobos swallowed, leaning up on his elbows to watch as Porthos sank his teeth into the soft skin and Phobos jumped and startled.

"Tell me," Porthos said, blowing the words across Phobos' damp skin, hoping Phobos understood, would just do as told without being difficult for once.

But that wasn't like Phobos at all. His eyes narrowed, gaze sharpening. "Why?"

Porthos shrugged, glanced down again and began to easy Phobos' pants off him, kissing the sharp jut of one hipbone as it was exposed, and then the soft skin just beneath. Phobos' breath caught, hips wiggling to help Porthos undress him.

Porthos pushed Phobos' pants off the side of the bed, leaned down again and watched interestedly as Phobos' cock twitched, hardening just a little more in anticipation. "I'm curious," Porthos said, didn't say anything else.

For a long moment, Phobos just looked at him, already seeming to have forgotten the thread of their conversation. Then he swallowed, throat rolling. "It wasn't anything," he said, but already he seemed a little bit more placated, especially when Porthos gripped him lightly in one hand, skimming his lips up the slowly-hardening length.

"Just fucking," he said, then added, "just once," his breath hitching when Porthos let the tip of his tongue dart out to wet the head of his cock.

"You fuck him?" Porthos asked, the image already filling his mind; Abel on his back, moaning and arching as Phobos pushed into him, all taught and skinny and clumsy, and Porthos didn't know why he liked it so much, but he did.

But Phobos shook his head, flushing deeper, trying to tilt his hips and get Porthos to take his cock in his mouth. Porthos was distracted, though, the mental image shattering. He sat up, ignoring Phobos' murderous look as he swallowed and said in a quiet voice, "He fucked you?"

"Yeah, so?" Phobos asked, so fucking defensive, already starting to pull back toward the head of the mattress. Porthos slid over him instead, pushed him back down and then put a hand in his hair, pushing his tongue into Phobos' mouth.

Phobos was surprised for all of a second, then he was moaning, trying to roll his hips up against Porthos', couldn't quite manage it with Porthos' weight pressing him down. When Porthos pulled back, Phobos just strained upwards, trying to kiss again, unable to with Porthos' hand still wrapped tight in his hair.

"How was he?" Porthos asked, so fucking hot for the details; thinking about Phobos' knees pushed up to his chest, Abel's cock pushing into him. "Did he fuck you hard?"

Phobos panted, nodded, pulled against the hand in his hair again, so Porthos indulged him, kissed him and thought about Abel fucking Phobos; somewhere quiet and out of the way, maybe rutting against each other in some supply closet, on the ground, up against the wall, Phobos bent over against the shelving units with Abel fucking into him from behind—

Phobos was pulling at Porthos' clothes then, undressing him, hands working at the buttons and zippers until he was naked. Phobos stripped out of his undershirt and then they were kissing again, Porthos pushing Phobos' thighs open and pinning them to the bed so he could grind their hips together.

Phobos gasped, sucked the breath out of Porthos' mouth before he broke the kiss and pulled away, panting. Porthos lifted a hand, inserted two fingers into Phobos gaping mouth and slid them rough against the back of his tongue. Phobos caught on, sucked a tight seal around his fingers, still sucking when Porthos pulled them out again; string of saliva breaking as he rolled off Phobos enough to glance down.

"He fuck you with his fingers first?" Porthos asked, rubbing both wet fingers against the hot skin just behind Phobos' balls.

Phobos nodded, mouth gaping, tilting his hips down and trying to push Porthos' fingers inside him.

"Tell me how," Porthos said, circling his entrance now, the little puckered flare of skin, following Phobos' movements; pulling away as Phobos ground down with his hips.

"The fuck do you mean?" Phobos snapped, obviously sick of being teased. He reached down and scrabbled for Porthos' wrist, finally finding it and trying to drag it forward; to put Porthos' fingers where he wanted them.

Porthos almost laughed. He shook off Phobos' hand and then sat up, leaning between Phobos spread legs. He gripped one slim thigh and guided it upward, ignored the venomous look Phobos gave him until he realized what Porthos was about. He curled the leg up against his chest and held it there, other thigh still bent and spread open against the mattress.

He almost forgot about Abel completely with the new view, but then Phobos was back to wiggling his hips, and Porthos remembered about Abel as he pushed two fingers into him without any more preamble,  _feeling_ the shudder that made its way up Phobos' spine, his mouth dropping open, muscles fluttering and clenching down tight around Porthos' hand.

"How'd he do it?" Porthos asked, breath coming quicker, so hard himself that he had to wrap his free hand around his cock just to placate it.

"S—slow," Phobos said, the word seeming to slip out of him, moaning and rolling his hips against the mattress when Porthos pulled his fingers out and then slid them back in, watching the reactions play across Phobos' face.

Of course Abel had done it slow; that's the way Phobos liked it. He liked it when Porthos fucked him slow with his fingers; when he pushed in deep and stayed there, rubbing hard over his prostate with every thrust. Porthos wondered if Abel had discovered this, had learned about all of Phobos spots, his kinks; the things he liked best.

Porthos pulled back when Phobos started to pant harder, his head rolling against the pillow, mussing his hair. Porthos slicked his cock with a little bottle of lotion from beneath the bed, had to pause and take a breath to keep from coming too soon, especially with Phobos still spread out and flushed beneath him, legs still pulled back, just waiting.

Porthos licked his lips, put a hand on the back of Phobos' raised thigh. "How'd Abel fuck you?" he asked. "On your back?"

Phobos hesitated, then shook his head, flushing deeper. He'd caught on, though, understood the game they were playing now, so he didn't wait for Porthos to say anything, just relaxed his legs and rolled over, getting his knees under him and pushing his head back into the pillow, long hair tangling against the white fabric.

"Hard?" Porthos asked, tip of his cock bumping against Phobos' entrance, watching Phobos push back, legs flexing.

He nodded, glancing back over his shoulder to watch as Porthos pushed into him in one stroke. Porthos gasped at the tight cloying heat; gripping Phobos' hips and keeping him still for as long as Phobos allowed, had to make a conscious effort not to come right then, especially when Porthos started thinking of Abel feeling this, of Abel gripping Phobos' hips and staring down the length of his spine while he rocked his cock inside him.

"Fuck," Porthos gasped, used his grip on Phobos to push him forward, then haul him back.

Phobos moaned, muscles clenching down hard around Porthos' cock for a heart-stopping moment before he relaxed and lowered his chest to the mattress, letting Porthos set the pace, fuck him as hard as they both wanted.

"Did he fuck you like this?" Porthos panted, could barely think with all of the fantasies flooding his mind, the images of Abel and Phobos moving together; frantic and desperate; sweet, wide-eyed Abel taking Phobos from behind.

Phobos made a noise, not a confirmation or denial; just a small, strangled little moan. It didn't matter, though; Porthos didn't have to hear any more. He gripped Phobos' shoulder and hauled him up; Phobos' back to his front. He wrapped an arm around the thin chest and let Phobos tip his head back to rest against Porthos' shoulder, blond hair tickling his back.

He wrapped a hand around Phobos' cock and pulled up, reveled in the feeling of Phobos shivering, in the feeling of fucking Phobos deep with their new angle; no room to pull out very far, but just rocking into him hard.

He came fast, Porthos barely even touching his cock before he had come all over his own stomach, shuddering and moaning, grinding back harder onto Porthos' cock, and Porthos had been so close for so long that that's all it took. He pushed Phobos back to the bed where he fell, boneless, ass in the air as Porthos pumped in two long, hard strokes, and then came as well.

He stayed inside Phobos for a long moment, both of them quiet and sweating and panting. Then he carefully pulled out, sitting down heavily on the bed at the same moment that Phobos' trembling thighs gave out, folding under him until he was nothing but a little rolled-up ball against the sheets.

"Are you all right?" Porthos asked, running a hand up the curved line of Phobos spine, fingers ticking off each individual vertebra.

Phobos nodded, lifted one arm from the mattress to gesture halfheartedly toward Porthos. He got the hint, sliding forward and arranging Phobos against his front as he lay back against the bed. Phobos uncurled his body, tangling his legs with Porthos' and resting his bead against Porthos' chest, sighing.

They were both quiet. After a few moments, Porthos couldn't stop himself from asking, "And it's over?" hoping that Phobos was already asleep and wouldn't hear it.

Instead, he snorted. "Yeah," Phobos said. "That new fighter and everything."

And it wasn't much of an explanation, but for Phobos it would have to do. So Porthos let Phobos draw closer, place a little kiss against his chest and then sigh again, his arm slackening around Porthos' front as his breath evened out and he fell asleep.


End file.
